


Purpose

by taichara



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 18:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4929916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heero watches, waits, prepares, because war is not done with him yet.</p>
<p>He hopes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DigitalMeowMix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalMeowMix/gifts).



Some found the void of space to be a place of unease, of loneliness and fear; an existence that was hostile to humanity, ready to strike down the fools who dared to think they should reach beyond Earth's grasp.

Clinging to the exterior capsule that was Zero's all-enfolding wings, clipped securely to the curving snowy plates by harness and magdiscs, as he worked on much-need repairs Heero felt none of those things. Space was where he belonged; the emptiness suited him well, as long as his missions were incomplete. Better to work alone right now than drag the others -- already retreating into mundane existences, with one exception -- into his work.

And it _was_ work. His was no holy crusade, no higher calling, but only the sure knowledge of being the most suitable tool for the task.

_'It won't be over yet, boy.'_

_'Do you honestly think the grasping claws of the ones in power are going to give up that easily?'_

The Doctor's words -- wheezing, laughing, all too all-knowing -- still echoed in his head, a final directive that he didn't dare to ignore. Pushed by their weight, he kept moving; never in one place for more than a few days at a time, never drawing attention to himself. An easier task now that he had a few more years on him, had filled out a little. Not much, just enough --

_Not that I ever needed to look the part to get the job done. Ever._

He smirked a little at the thought. Who needed to look the part, when you had the strength to bend steel already? 

_The Alliance couldn't stop me. OZ couldn't stop me. Romefeller couldn't stop me._

_And whoever it is that comes next, they won't stop me either._

The best tool for the job. Yes, that was exactly what he was. He fought because that was the directive given to him -- and because he had to. 

_Because my existence is to fight._

_Because that's what I've been given these skills to do._

_Because that's what my father gave to me._

... Now _there_ was a memory that had not welled up for a long, long time. Heero prodded at it, wary, while his hands continued the rote work of repairing the faulty relays in the capsule's maintenance panel. It wasn't like him to think of his father, any more than he spent time thinking of his mother, or of Seis --

_Hey, Seis, I actually piloted a Leo a few years ago. I've destroyed so many I lost count almost as soon as I started, but I piloted one._

His smirk tinged with bitterness.

_You broke my toy, so I guess it's only fair that I've made a hobby of demolishing the real ones ..._

A few sparks jumped beneath his hands, and he swore. Too much woolgathering, not enough working, and he couldn't afford to burn out those relays altogether. Getting marooned would be the end of him _and_ his mission.

_And I can't afford to screw this up. I still have mistakes to make up for._

Mistakes, indeed. 

Heero would never claim to be perfect; only machines could be perfect, and he was no machine, no more than he was some 'true' soldier who could fall back on the excuse of following orders blindly. He was supposed to be better than that -- and when he failed, innocents lost their lives.

That was not supposed to happen. 

It was _never_ supposed to happen.

Flashes of memory in his mind's eye: a puppy; a battered doll, a ravaged toy bear ... 

The half-heartbeat of false victory at Edwards, before the revelation that the carrier he'd so swiftly annihilated had carried the then-only hope for peace in all of Earthspace; the yawning horror that engulfed him when he'd realized his error ...

Sharp pain and sharper, swifter realization delivered to him at the hands of Sylvia Noventa, stronger than he'd ever be, calling him out on his blind cowardice ...

\-- all of these, and others, welled up and shook him like a ragdoll, more horrifying than any nightmare Zero and its System had impressed into his mind before he'd mastered the monstrous thing. Reflexively, Heero glanced briefly up the length of the capsule; wrapped in its own furled wings Zero was 'sleeping', lightly, but the murderous metal angel only waited for its chance to kill again.

_And it'll only happen when I say it can happen._

_Your fangs aren't so sharp now, are they. I've learned to be stronger than you._

Not for the first time, he wondered just how aware Wing Zero was, and whether it resented Heero's new directives in life. No longer waging war, but literally fighting, unseen, to keep the peace -- did the malevolence inside the suit's OS rage at the merest thought of it, or did it care at all, so long as it continued to destroy?

And what did that make Heero himself, who chose to continue to let the thing fight, as long as he was the one in the driver's seat?

A tiny chill danced down his spine, a trickle of cold sweat inside the bulky worksuit, despite his inner bravado. It didn't matter; damn it, it didn't _matter!_

_I'm fighting with Zero because no one else can._

_It's all the same thing -- I'm fighting now because I'm the one who exists to fight, and I'm using this suit to do it because it's better me than some other idiot._

Like Maxwell, say. Now _there_ was an amusing line of thought, amusing enough that spinning variations of it lasted the rest of the repair task. Before he'd even noticed, the relays were up and running and maintenance readouts were all green; time to return to the capsule's companion shuttle. 

Heero slid the snowy panels back into place, sealed them closed; then released the magdiscs and harness clips, engaging his worksuit's tiny backpack thrusters as he did so. His trajectory was smooth as always, propelling him directly towards the shuttle's small hatch.

Maybe, some day, the directive would end and his mission would be over.

Maybe, some day, there would be no need to fight in the shadows to maintain Earthspace's fragile peace.

What would he do, then, with no need for his only purpose?

Would he even _be_ , then?

For a single heartbeat, the void of space yawned around him and he shivered ...


End file.
